


Stay with Me

by sisters_of_the_moon



Series: To Be Born [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Gen, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Serious Injuries, also i love the stonewright so much despite the fact we barely know her, and just doesnt want them to suffer, i tagged it as gen bc thats what it is for now, renathal meets draven for the first time, renathal's mission goes wrong and people are Worried about him, set pre-drought, she cares about her family so MUCH, so im assigning her eldest daughter syndrome, tho its pre-slash for draven and renathal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 10:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30138489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisters_of_the_moon/pseuds/sisters_of_the_moon
Summary: They all have a part to play. Renathal knows his, as much as it hurts. It's okay, though. He's still here.Renathal's mission goes poorly and his loved ones are reminded that while he's not mortal, he's not necessarily immortal either.
Relationships: Denathrius & Renathal (Warcraft), Renathal & Draven, Renathal & The Stonewright
Series: To Be Born [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2213271
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Stay with Me

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to another installment of venthyr brainrot feat. me getting far too emotional about the eventual fallout that hasnt even happened yet also feat. my favorite "swear" from hades
> 
> in the venthyr campaign we find out revendreth has been secretly meddling with the rest of the shadowlands long before the rebellion (one specific case was anima drain canisters in bastion which draven did but im hc'ing that they likely did this sort of thing more than once), so i wanted to take a look into the mindset that made that okay vs renathal putting his foot down for making their own people suffer + helping the jailer
> 
> lyrics are from Promises by The Cranberries which i project onto renathal and denathrius all the time all the time

**_“Why can't you stay here awhile_ **

**_Stay here awhile_ **

**_Stay with me_ **

**_All the promises we made_ **

**_All the meaningless and empty words I prayed_ **

**_All the promises we broke_ **

**_All the meaningless and empty words I spoke”_ **

* * *

“You’re doing it again.”

Renathal lolled his head from where it lay on the cool stone of the bridge. “Doing what?”

“Brooding.”

He scrunched up his nose. Pinched the bridge of it. Sighed. “Yes. What about it?”

“If you’re brooding, you’re not  _ doing _ .”

“Always so harsh.”

The Stonewright jerked her shoulders in what Renathal had long since learned was a shrug. Unlike him, laying splayed across the edge of the bridge, she sat ramrod straight and perched perfectly on the edge like one of her dutiful children. He puffed out another breath of air, watching it mist in front of his face. 

“Besides, if I’m not ‘doing’ then how can I be ‘doing it again,’ hm?” 

She groaned. “Fine. You are not doing anything  _ productive _ .”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Renathal drawled. “Brooding can be quite productive. Lets one reflect on their woes. And it is only by the virtue of reflection that we rise above our sins-”

“ _ Enough. _ ” But Renathal could see the corner of her lip twitching upwards. “Goodness me, you sound like a walking pamphlet. Going to start traveling across the realms, recruiting converts to the cause?”

“Please,” Renathal said. “Revendreth is already a realm of converts.”

The Stonewright huffed, and he knew it was laughter. “Barring exceptions, of course.”

Renathal shot up then, swinging his legs over the bridge’s edge haphazardly. His weight lunged forward for just a moment and he teetered before regaining his balance. The Stonewright jerked forward in an aborted movement, her hand raised just the slightest bit from where it had been poised on her thigh.

He grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers. “To being exceptional, then.”

“To being exceptionally  _ foolish _ ,” she said, but did not let go of his hand. “Honestly. Could you go five minutes without giving me a fright?” 

“My apologies,” Renathal murmured, and meant it. Slowly, though, he let a grin creep across his face. “Worried about me, are you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Hm.” The Stonewright stared fiercely out at the Endmire below them, as if it had personally offended her. 

“What’s wrong?” Renathal asked, keeping his voice soft.

The Stonewright barked out another laugh. “Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that?”

“I’m  _ fine. _ ”

“You’re not. Blood and darkness, you’re as bad as the Curator.”

“I beg your pardon?” Renathal scoffed.

“You,” she grit out, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Are stubbornly dedicated to insisting you’re well and fine when you are anything but. You care too much. Tell me. I’m asking.” With each word, she poked her finger into his chest once more. “What. Is. Wrong?”

Well, he’s not sure he can argue with  _ that _ . Renathal cleared his throat. “I…it’s silly of me. Frivolous.”

The Stonewright merely raised an eyebrow.

“I…” Renathal sighed. “Forgive me, I’ve simply been a tad… lonely.”

Her gaze gentled. “He’s been busy.”

“Yes,” Renathal mumbled. “Which is alright, I suppose. What with our recent activities  _ abroad _ , of course he would be occupied with much more important matters. Of course. He’s our Sire. I suppose I’m just… used to having him around more.”

“He has been giving our efforts much of his focus, lately. I’ve felt it too.” The Stonewright’s fingers twitched in his hand. “Most times we talk nowadays it’s always business. Stoneborn production, training,” she paused. “Death count.”

Renathal hummed and held her hand tighter. “It’s for a good cause. We need insurance…and soon it’ll be done, and our time will be our own again. No more missions.”

The Stonewright glanced at him. “Perhaps we’ll throw a party when it’s all over.” 

“Perhaps we will!” Renathal chuckled. “I’m sure the Countess would love the chance to throw a real celebration, instead of all the noble get-along sessions they call parties.”

She turned back towards the Endmire, the tiniest of grins finally settling on her lips. “We’ll have to invite friends. We’ll eat cake.”

* * *

_ Cake would sound splendid right now,  _ Renathal thought, diving behind one of Bastion’s insufferably iridescent rocks. Not a second later, a wave of anima bombarded where he was last standing. All that remained of his footprint was a smoking crater amidst the blades of grass lazily swaying in the wind. And smoke.

Shadows below, cake would be  _ really _ nice right now. Renathal always did find himself partial to sweets over incineration.

“Resistance is ill-advised,” the centurion sang in what he assumed was supposed to be soothing chimes. He could hear its metallic clangs growing closer. “Surrender yourself immediately.”

_ I suppose it would be ill-advised, _ Renathal mused, surveying his arm. From wrist to bicep, the skin was rent to ribbons. Those centurions had quite the claws on them. Anima sluggishly bled out from his side - one of their robotic  _ pets  _ had bitten quite the chunk from him. His lungs strained, his shoulder burned, his ankle was sprained, and he was vaguely aware that he’d likely hit his head a tad too hard somewhere along the way. 

Renathal was more than capable of dispatching one measly centurion on his own. But an entire platoon, while trying to covertly place his anima drain canisters, while avoiding letting the remnants of his attack scream  _ Venthyr _ all over them, while figuring out a way to inconspicuously dispatch said  _ entire platoon? _ It was a tall order, even for a prince. 

He had taken out all but one well enough, but paid in blood. He just needed to take care of this last centurion to ensure his secrecy, and then make it back to their hidden mirror. He readjusted his grip on Vorpalia, hissed when it sent a fresh spike of pain screaming up his arm. He could feel her concern pulse from the hilt, alongside a solemn determination for vengeance.

_ Let us be done with it, my prince, _ she whispered.

“Yes,” Renathal murmured. He felt adrenaline rush, singing, through his veins.

He smiled.

“Let us be done with it.”

* * *

Just a little farther.

Just a little farther.

Renathal wheezed, fingers scrabbling on the cave walls, looking for any purchase to just  _ keep him going.  _ Distantly, he was aware of the wet smear of anima he was trailing behind him from - well, he wasn’t sure which one of his wounds was the primary culprit. Maybe all of them.

He was within range of the mirror now - though glamored, he could sense it. It was over, it was done. His mission was complete. Vorpalia’s voice, sounding worlds away, murmured soothingly to him. He just needed to make it to that trickle of glimmering, fresh water at the cave’s center… just a little farther…

His fingers slipped, and he went tumbling to the ground. That struck a hack out of his lungs, and flecks of anima stained the floor. He might not make it. He needed to accept this. He might not make it. There is a simplicity in inevitability.  _ You must accept this. _

He lifted his hand once more.

Another grabbed it. 

Renathal snapped his head up. There, holding his trembling hand… ruby rings gleaming in the low light of the cave… a strong arm…snowy hair, like his, like his... burning, bloody eyes… they looked so  _ scared… _

Everything went dark. He was caught on his way down.

* * *

Darkness. All around Renathal, there was only darkness. Darkness and a rich, deep voice weaving through it. Familiar. Safe. Even when vexed to anger, it always sounded so pleasant.

“-cannot possibly tell me you gathered sufficient information for this task. I am  _ thoroughly _ disappointed, Lieutenant.”

Renathal groaned. His head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton, but he managed to flutter his eyes open. The first thing he saw was a high, arching canopy. Crimson silks flowed down like rain around it, and the warm amber glow of candlelight flickered across the sheer surface. He was in a bed, he realized, swathed in a thick duvet. It was warm. It was nice, he realized, a pleased little hum escaping him.

And there was Denathrius, sweeping down beside his place on the bed. His eyebrows creased, and his lips were set in a worried frown. He shouldn’t worry, Renathal thought guiltily. He was so busy, had too much to worry about already…

“How are you feeling?” Denathrius whispered. He brushed a lock of hair behind Renathal’s ear before smoothing his hand across his forehead. 

“I’m fi-” Renathal started to say, but his Sire sent him a look so fiercely stern the words died in his throat. “I’m… I could be better, I suppose.”

He tried to sit up then, but a wrenching pain in his side had him hissing and fisting the covers. Quick as a flash, Denathrius laid a firm hand on his chest, gently easing him back down. “None of that,” he chided softly. “You need rest. I could heal much of your wounds, but you were…” Denathrius trailed off, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Well. Even I have my limits.” 

Renathal’s eyes widened. “Oh, my mission - I completed it, limited myself to use of blades only. With any luck, they won’t suspect-”

“Shh. You did well. I took care of the rest.”

“Good, good,” Renathal sighed. “I know you must be busy with other matters. I am sorry for the trouble, Sire.”

Denathrius’ face made a funny little twitch. “Renathal, you nearly - there’s no need to apologize, little one.”

“Hm,” Renathal hummed. “You haven’t called me that in some while.”

“Well,” Denathrius said, and sat on the bed beside him. He lightly caressed his jaw, smoothing a thumb over his cheek. “Perhaps I simply feel like it.”

Renathal, careful of the soreness in his arm, raised his arm to take Denathrius’ hand in his. He gave a weary smile, and Denathrius gave one in return.

Suddenly, his Sire’s face hardened. His eyes, once warmly glowing, glittered like ice. “You may go now,” he called irritably behind him. Renathal saw then a stoneborn, lithe and powerful, standing rather awkwardly by the door.

“Of course. And… deepest apologies, Master. I won’t let it happen again.” she growled out, head bowed.

Denathrius turned around then, slowly, so that Renathal could no longer see his face. The stoneborn paled.

“I know you won’t,” he crooned. “Now,  _ go.” _

The stoneborn scuttled out the door, which shut with a great bang behind her. Denathrius turned back to him again, expression tender once more, though Renathal could see hints of frustration in the way his face strained.

“Who was that?”

“The lieutenant who was in charge of running reconnaissance for your assignment. She failed to take notice of the scheduled shift in patrols from a skeleton crew to a platoon, which you then became  _ very _ well acquainted with,” Denathrius explained, tapping his claw lightly on the bandage around Renathal’s temple. 

“They’re becoming more suspicious,” Renathal realized.

“Mm, yes,” Denathrius sighed. “They’re starting to sense a drop in their forge production, courtesy of our little gifts. No doubt Kyrestia will ask my brother’s little clubhouse of spies to come sleuthing.”

Renathal felt dread curl in his gut. “Then-”

“Like I said, dear prince, I took care of it. I have ample resources. They’ll find nothing more than traces of a border skirmish with the realm of Disorder.”

“I see,” Renathal said, blinking slowly. “How long have I been out?”

“A few days. When you drew close enough to the mirror, I was able to sense you again. Your presence was so _ faint _ …” A haunted look swept over Denathrius’ face then, before he composed himself once more. “I’ve been tending to your wounds ever since, getting you stabilized.”

Renathal’s face crumpled. “My apologies. It was not my intent to suck up so much of your time.”

Denathrius’ expression became troubled. “No, Renathal. If anything, this helped to remind me why our efforts are so necessary. They could take from us so easily.” His eyes grew piercing, then, cold, and Renathal could taste in the air anger and - and  _ fear _ , hot on his tongue. Denathrius clutched his shoulder, a dull ache flaring in the socket. “They’ve done it before, they can take any time they want to, and I will not let them take what we have made - I will not let them take you,” he swore to him, dark and fierce and fervent, voice no louder than a whisper.

“They won’t,” Renathal assured him. “They won’t.”

His Sire’s grip loosened. “I’m so sorry, little one,” he said wretchedly. “I’m sorry I’ve put you in harm’s way. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to be beside you.” 

Renathal held out his arms weakly, and Denathrius embraced him, curling him close.

“It’s quite alright. I know you carry much on your shoulders,” Renathal soothed. “It’s alright, you took care of me. See? I’m fine.”

Denathrius only held him tighter.

* * *

“You’re doing it again.”

“Am not.”

“You are.”

“I am not  _ brooding. _ ”

“Oh, you’re not. It’s something different, this time.”

Renathal shot the Stonewright a bewildered look. “What?”

She gave him a tight little smile as she walked beside him. She leaned over. “Limping,” she whispered, as if divulging some great secret. “And pretending you’re not.”

“I-” Renathal sputtered. “It’s a long walk, wherever you’re taking me!”

“Hm, yes,” The Stonewright hummed. “Oh no, don’t stop on my account,” she told him when he stopped to glare at her, waving a strong hand. “It’s quite entertaining, really.”

Renathal did not budge.

“Oh, you are stubborn,” she huffed. Then, brow pinching, asked, “Really though - if you need assistance, I can call one of my children over. Sakaa is a good girl, I’m sure she’d be happy to help-”

“ _ No, _ ” Renathal said. Then, gentler, “But thank you. I’ll be fully healed soon, Denathrius said. I can manage until then.”

The Stonewright gave him an appraising once-over. Nodding, she continued walking along the paths of her estate, and Renathal followed.

“Right, then,” she said. “The children were...worried about you. A lot of people were.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard. The Countess has already told me of a contest of sorts between the Houses over who could send the grandest sympathy gift. Though I’m not quite certain if it was the product of worry so much as a mad scramble to see who could lord it over the rest for the next few centuries.”

“Oh? And who won?”

Renathal grinned. “A lovely set of tomes on the care and keeping of widowbloom gardens. Reading does so help soothe me.”

“Ah. So the Curator, then.”

The Stonewright stopped then. Renathal recognized the building in front of them as one of her many workshops. “We’re here, I presume?”

“Yes,” she said. Dare Renathal say it, but her eyes seemed to  _ twinkle _ . “And I’d hold your judgment on best gift yet.”

“Oh?” Renathal said teasingly, but followed her inside nonetheless.

The workshop, a smaller affair of wide windows and modest stone, held many half-finished, lifeless blocks, both fearsome gargoyle and impish fiends alike peeking out from them. And there in the middle of it all was a fully carved stoneborn, frozen and still. 

Renathal gaped - he couldn’t help it. The Stonewright had created many fine and noble works, this was true, but this - this took the cake. Mightier than any lieutenant he’d seen, with stern, intelligent eyes, and gorgeously sculpted wings that could spread across six venthyr at least.

“They’re marvelous,” Renathal whispered.

“Yes. Your gift.”

At this, Renathal sent the Stonewright a puzzled look. “Stoneborn aren’t property.”

“Oh my -  _ blood and darkness, _ ” she promptly smacked him in the arm. He rubbed it, wincing. “Of course not. It’s the gift of introduction, moron.”

“Oh. Yes. That would make more sense.”

“Hm,” she grunted. “Well. I hear you took a whack to the head. Thank you for confirming that.”

She waved a hand out then, gesturing to the stoneborn. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“You do the honors.”

_ “Me?” _ Renathal squawked. “I thought you always christened them. For the bond-”

“Yes, well,” The Stonewright said, hands set on her hips. “You do it. They’ll be meant to guard you anyways.”

“What? No,” Renathal gasped. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“Not always. But there will come a time where you  _ do _ ,” she bit out. Her gaze burned a hole in his side, where many bandages hid snugly under his shirt. “And when that happens, you need someone beside you. To catch you. So that… so that we know someone will.”

Renathal paused, worrying his lip with his right fang. After a few beats of silence, he gave out a sigh, and began gathering anima into his palms. He drew it forth from himself, pulling gently, scarlet waves swirling and swirling in his hands, until -

“That will do,” the Stonewright said, placing a steady hand on his. “Now, infuse them with it.”

Renathal nodded, and bid his anima forward, sending it rushing into the stoneborn. Through his essence, he could sense them, a budding consciousness at the edges of his awareness. He could feel them - feel _ him _ starting to awake. 

A stone claw twitched.

All at once, his presence bloomed in full force, and Renathal admired it all - solemnity, loyalty, duty, rigor, care. He burst forth from his stasis, the dull luster of rock giving way to the lively sheen of stoneborn skin, wings flaring out like a great dredbat.

He roared - a ferocious bellow that rattled the windows with his might. Renathal’s heart stopped.

“Amazing,” he marveled.

The stoneborn peered down at him. His gaze was watchful and intent, and so very, very alive. “You’ve awoken me.”

“Yes,” Renathal said. He glanced towards the Stonewright for guidance - what did one do when waking a stoneborn for the first time  _ ever _ \- but she merely looked upon them both, a soft smile gracing her usually stern visage. “I - well, my name is Renathal. May I ask your’s?”

“I know who you are, my prince,” the stoneborn said. His lips twitched up for a moment before he schooled his features back into a dutiful look. “My name is General Draven.”

“A general?” Renathal questioned. “That  _ is _ new.”

“The first of his kind,” The Stonewright finally explained, stepping beside him. She looked warmly upon Draven, clasping a hand on his arm. “Welcome, Draven.”

“Hello, Stonemother,” Draven rumbled, and this time he did smile down at her. “It is good to see you at last.”

“You as well, my child,” she nodded, patting his arm once before drawing back. “I assume you know your duties?”

“Yes,” Draven nodded. He stepped forward, and with a great  _ thud _ , dropped to one knee before Renathal. “I stand ready to serve Revendreth, my prince.”

Now it was Renathal’s turn to look down at him, unsure. Finally, he carefully took a knee as well, gathering Draven’s massive stone hand in his. Draven glanced up at him, startled, and he felt confusion weave its way through their fresh bond. 

“Then I am ready to serve beside you, Draven.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed :D
> 
> as always you can catch me at my wow blog dawnblade-disaster on tumblr!


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